Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (8 page)

“All natural, sir…heterochromia iridia…one in three million or so have it.”

“Bloody disturbing,” he mumbled, finally tearing his gaze away from her blue, left eye and brown, right one, continuing down her petite frame and back up to a cord about her neck. Macao reached out and gave the cord a tug, touching the two-centimeter platinum pendant hanging on it. “An N-link? Where’d you get this?”
 

She reluctantly slipped the cord off over her head and let the pendant drop into his palm. “A classmate of mine at Academy gave it to me.”

“Why?” Macao demanded, frowning while staring at the chip. “These are very rare.”

“He was a telepath and...”

“An Alphan?”

“Yes, sir. He found it helped...”

“It blocks your telepathic thoughts,” the Captain finished for her. “I used to wear one until I completed mastery training.”

Without it around her neck, Dana felt a much stronger rush of conflicting energies coming at her. Some were from the Captain, but others were far more malevolent and distant. Only by instituting her empath training could she push them aside.

“Are you telepathic?” Macao handed the N-link back. “Do you wear it always?”

His tone puzzled her. “Regulations permit it,” Dana reminded, sensing his disapproval. “I have Eridani training, but I am not assigned to
Lancer
as a professional counselor.”

“Your file says you’re Enturian. Enturians are not known to be highly telepathic…Why would you have…” He let the thought trail off. “What other training do you have that’s not listed?”
 

She felt the need to proceed with caution. “I have a broad knowledge base, Captain, beyond the scope listed in my Star Service and Academy records, from anatomy to zoology, including linguistics,” she said, using the antiquated Alphan old tongue to emphasize her point.

His eyes narrowed. “Aboard
Lancer
you will confine yourself to Universal. Is that understood?”

She nodded, “Aye, sir.”

“You haven’t had orientation yet?”

“No, sir.”

Macao stood and started for the door. “I’ll amend the log and delete the citation once I ascertain the facts.” He stopped after a few steps and turned back. “Why didn’t you call me on it right then?”

“And interrupt your tirade?” She chuckled, “It was not the proper time or place. You were not receptive, and I had work to do.”

Macao frowned. “Correct me when I’m wrong — that’s an order.”

“I will, sir, in the future, when the situation warrants. I don’t think it is good for morale to contradict you publicly. ‘Respect breeds respect’ I believe is the saying.”

Janz Macao once again stared, this time with a greater amount of respect. “My father used to say that all the time. It’s an Alphan maxim.”

“My guardian also used it quite often,” Dana replied.

“Was he Alphan?” he wondered.

“DOC? No,” she answered, shaking her head. “An Earth-human — old school though...”

His eyes narrowed further. “You are aware that I’m Alphan?”

Dana Cartwright looked at the deck. “Difficult to not be aware…You’re a 33
rd
degree Master of the Elect.”

He turned away without commenting and took another step toward the exit. “Carry on, Mister Cartwright.”

She bristled at the form of address. “Sir, I am not, ‘Mister’ Cartwright. My name is Dana.”

“I know,” he said, glancing back, seeing the faint upward, defiant curve of her lips. He didn’t smile. “New orders will be handed down tomorrow at 0900. All command officers are to report to One.”

“Aye, sir…Briefing Room One,” she returned, “I’ll reschedule my ‘orientation’ with Yeoman Warren from 0800 so I can be there on time.”

“Do that.” He nodded agreement, but made no further comment as he made his third start for the door.
 
As an afterthought, he turned back and asked, “Have you had dinner?”

“No, sir.”

“Join me,” he invited, “I’m starving.”

Dana suddenly felt a wave of emotion directed at her; but it wasn’t coming from Captain Macao. She restored the N-link to its place about her neck and followed him out to the corridor.

He led to Starboard-Seven officers’ lounge. They sat by the main viewport, at a table with a magnificent panoramic view, though the window-wall was tinted a bright shade of green and gave the star field a surreal quality.
 

She noticed how the dozen or so officers present immediately curbed their conversations and lowered their voices with the Captain present. A few cast sidelong glances, mostly aimed at her.

Embedded into the table top was an order pad. Macao thumbed a few items. Dana glanced at it, but settled on vegan soup with noodles.

“Have your yeoman procure some properly fitting uniforms; that look will not do upon the Bridge. Please avoid suggestive apparel.”

Dana caught him viewing her assets. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
 

“So, you read Shakespeare?” He quoted a few lines from
Hamlet
, admitting, “That’s about the extent of my recall.”

Dana offered a smile. “I have a photographic memory.”

“Just a walking computer then?”

She blinked and had to chuckle. “Just…”

“Is that why Four thought you could replace Mister Brandt?”

“I like to fly,” she admitted, and then, staring, added, boastfully and unabashedly, “I can fly anything.”

“On simulators…how about the real thing?”

“I captained Ambassador Solon’s shuttle for nearly a year before snagging the assignment to Four.”

“Oh, one of the big, Galaxean birds? Makes that little Blade Class seem like a peep.”

“Blade Class shuttles, like
Trader One
, are far more agile, and I’m rather fond of the drone escort program.”

“I am, too. When they’re functioning, it’s quite impressive.” Macao whispered, “I shouldn’t have given you back that N-link.”

“It blocks my telepathic thoughts and makes it impossible for you to read me,” Dana reminded, self-consciously fingering the pendant.

“Exactly.”

“You could order me to remove it.”

He stared then heaved a sigh. “I may just do that.”

Their meals were delivered by a petite yeoman.
 

“Thank you, Mister Napa,” the Captain said, giving the yeoman very little attention before slipping a cloth napkin over his lap and taking up a fork.

Dana waited for the woman to leave before taking up a spoon.

“So you’re a total vegan?” Macao commented, while stabbing a small curl of breaded shrimp on his plate amid a bed of fried rice. “I lean more towards seafood.”

“I normally follow a very strict vegetarian and low-carb diet, but I make exceptions now and then for treats, such as chocolay,” Dana said, taking up a cup of the Enturian beverage and savoring the first taste. “Not all duplicators offer it.”

The Captain chuckled. “That’s a bad vice of mine. I love that stuff. It’s been awhile since I visited Enturize. What continent are you from?”

“North America,” Dana answered stiffly.

His eyebrows shot upward as he puzzled over the response, “North America, Earth?”

She added, “I was raised on Earth, sir.”

“Really?”

“Estes Park, Rocky Mountains, Capitol City…”

He seemed truly surprised. “You are quite an enigma, Mister Cartwright. Why are you my C-O-C?”

“I have an uncanny ability with wiring schematics. I’m like a neurosurgeon when it comes to circuitry.”

For the first time since meeting the Captain, she saw Janz Macao offer up an unguarded smile.
 

“Like a neurosurgeon?” He chuckled over that all through the meal. He ordered a chocolay for himself and, after it arrived, sank back in the tub chair with it, relaxing for just a few minutes longer. “You really do need smaller uniforms. What were they thinking?”

“I’m guessing these were ordered for Commander Brandt,” Dana joked.

“Perhaps…” The Captain nodded then grew serious, setting down his empty cup. “They could have patched up Neville’s broken ribs.”

Dana knew his meaning. “One punctured a lung — mandatory three weeks of down time. I could quote the medical procedures manual.”

“Fane! I should have visited him in the med-center on Four. I wasn’t thinking.” Macao stood abruptly, bowed his head in her direction, and then said, “Mission briefing 0900.”

She didn’t have time to rise or respond before he was gone.

After dinner with the Captain, Dana went down to Deck Eleven to scold them about the uniform order. Yes, her yeoman could — and should — deal with it, but it gave her a way to vent, and an excuse to explore the lower decks.
 

The male yeoman called up the text of the order and the error became blatantly clear.
 

“Four, size small, two-piece, keyword ‘male’ uniforms.”

Dana stared at the man behind the counter. “As you can see, there’s been an error.”

Yeoman Mackenna eyed her from head to foot. “It would appear so, Commander Cartwright. I’ll take care of it. My sincere apologies… Bet they never dreamed a Bridge C-O-C would be...err...female.”

Dana shrugged. “I find it rather surprising we have no duplicators in our quarters,” she grumbled, watching and waiting as he processed the corrections.

“These older battleships lack quite a few amenities.
Big L
’s being retired in a year or so. No retrofit for
Lancer
…Going to moth balls.”

Dana chuckled at the latter, “Moth balls have been banned for a hundred years.”

“It’s just an old saying my grandfather used to…”

They both laughed.

 
Mackenna went to the digitizer to enter a request for six new, female, size X-small uniforms for her, promising, “I’ll have them delivered to your quarters. You can recycle the men’s uniforms, if you like, or set them out in the corridor for your yeoman.”

Dana shrugged, offered her thanks, and left, looking forward to having the new uniform shirts and pants before the morning briefing.
 

The moment she reached her quarters, she settled down on the overly firm bunk, suddenly exhausted, and closed her eyes. The dissonant pulse of the interstellar drive lulled her to sleep.

Once again, she dreamed of flying — of soaring — over Forever Pointe on Centauri Prime, with no logical explanation as to why.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

At 0700, Dana Cartwright dressed in one of the old uniforms, since the new ones had not yet arrived, and went down to Starboard-Seven, the officers’ lounge, for a meal.

The Captain was already there.
 
He didn’t appear rested. She deliberated taking a seat farther away, but he motioned her to the empty chair opposite his at the same table they had shared the night before.

Dana ordered as the Captain finished his coffee.
 
Neither broke the silence, until her meal and a cup of hot tea arrived.
 

Macao stared at the bowl of oatmeal, “I hate oatmeal. Every day at Academy they served us oatmeal, and eggs…reconstituted, powdered eggs.”

Dana chuckled, “I don’t eat eggs.”

He locked eyes with her.

She boldly returned his stare.
 

“Sir?”

“Have you ever been to Forever Pointe?”

She sucked in a breath, “Why do you ask?”

“I keep seeing an image of you flying over the canyon. Can’t put it out of my mind.”

“Did you see it telepathically?” she wondered, deliberately being evasive.

He nodded.

“That should be impossible, sir, with me wearing an N-link.”

“I saw it before you even came aboard, but after I first met you on Four.”

“Perhaps it’s precognitive,” she suggested, manipulating the conversation away from his inquiry.

“I hate Forever Pointe,” Janz admitted, “you would have to push me off the cliff.”

She chuckled, thinking he was joking. “I love flying. Gave up my medical career so I could. Declined a promotion to full commander, so I could stay on the small craft level and on the Mech-Tech flight crew.”

“You flew for Alphan ambassadors? You flew
Trident
before? And Solon’s ship?”

“Yes, sir, for Ambassador Kord of the Alphan delegation and for Ambassador Solon of the Galaxean, and a dozen others; even flew the President of the Republic once on a short hop from Earth-Station One to his home on Betelgeuse II, when his crew…” She stopped, seeing the Captain’s eyes narrow.

Macao demanded to know, “Why are you on my ship?”

“You’ve asked me that before,” Dana said. “I have no idea.”

Janz abruptly winced, bringing his left hand up and rubbing it. “I suddenly have this really intense pain in my palm.” He flexed his fingers.

“Ever injured it?”

“Not the left hand, only the elbow.”

She reached out, offering to do a careful examination, checking the joints.

“Ouch!” he pulled away, still staring. “Did you know Lt. Zak in engineering has mismatched eyes like yours?”

Her attention heightened, “An interesting coincidence — heterochromia iridia, however, is not all that rare, sir.”

Macao scowled. “I’d never met anyone with it until you and him.”

“My father had it.”

“Is that why you became an eye specialist? It says in your personnel file you performed eye transplants.”

“My adopted father, David Cartwright, thought it was an up-and-coming field.”

“You became a transplant surgeon because he wanted you to?” Macao frowned.

She nodded.

“You were an accomplished surgeon…if I ever need one, I’ll be sure to ask for you.”

Clearly, he was now teasing.

“I no longer practice medicine,” she reminded.

“Nonsense! I checked. All your credentials and EMT certificates are current. You could replace Patel with ease.”

“Stars forbid!” Dana blurted out without thinking.

“In an emergency…”

“Never!” Dana insisted.

“Yet, you tended Neville Brandt,” he reminded.

“Had to…I was there…first responder.” She frowned and looked away, not wanting to admit to the empathetic reaction which resulted from that incident.